Starting Over
by Pandora02
Summary: After the escape from Fox River the brothers get some rest in a motel. Michael is wounded, Lincoln wonders if what they did was right… Michael/Lincoln Slash!
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Starting over (1/4)  
**Pairing**: Michael/Lincoln**  
Rating**: R  
**Warning**: see pairing, slight spoilers for end of s1  
**English ****Beta**: by my friend "foxriverinmate" - thank you!

**Summary**: Set at the beginning of season two. After the escape from Fox River the brothers get some rest in a motel. Michael is wounded, Lincoln wonders if what they did was right…

**A/N**: This is the English version of „Alles auf Anfang", so those of you who read German might know it already.

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1

Lincoln Burrows woke up. It was still dark outside; only the flickering of the neon sign fell into the shabby room like an unnatural moonlight. He'd had nowhere near enough sleep but rest wouldn't come to him. He didn't know if he would find rest ever again. Beside him Michael was breathing deeply and regularly. Enviable. Funnily enough he'd been the one who had problems with falling asleep as a child. Something caught Lincoln's eye as he was about to turn on the other side. A glimmer on Michael's bare shoulder. He looked closer. And repressed an expletive.

There was a wound. An open gash. At least ten centimetres long and freshly torn it seemed. The gaping lips were encrusted with dark blood and surrounded by swollen flesh that even the blueblack ink couldn't hide. The tattoo obscured a number of old scars, but if you looked closely you still could see them. This new wound was not just beneath the tattoo. There was fresh, bright blood, and clear fluid had been leaking, then dried and left silvery traces. Almost as if snails had been crawling across the skin.

He must have received the wound more than two days ago, Lincoln assumed. Maybe in the tunnel or on that damned barbed wire. Given Michael's reticence you never knew. Since then they had steadily headed southwards, only stopping when necessary. Gas, water, food, here and there some coffee. Staying awake. Holding on. Covering as much mileage as possible as fast as possible. That was all that counted. One after another they said goodbye to their fellow escapees, each of them eager for a new life, and now they were the last two left. Why hadn't Michael opened that goddamn mouth of his? They could have bought some _damned_ band-aid at every _damned_ gas station!

The fabric probably got adhered to the wound and when Michael took off his shirt last night before falling onto the bed, he must have torn it open again. It looked as if it hurt like hell. Lincoln bit his lip and stifled a sigh. Slowly he reached his hand out to Michael's hurt shoulder, but halted only a few centimetres above the skin. His fingers twitched, then traced hesitantly across Michael's shoulderblade, over the still unhelealed burn that had destroyed a part of the important tattoo, until they reched his spine. Always a hand's breadth away from touch. There it was. A fine scar, only as long as his pinky finger, just much, much thinner. Barely perceptible if you didn't know where to search. A rememberance of their teenage years. Even then his little brother had been stubborn as a mule.

His fingertips tickled with electricity, then they wandered on. Now Lincoln's hand was hovering over the holy figure, this sworded knight, angel, or whatever it was that had been inked on Michael's back. The picture reminded Lincoln of Saint George, who'd been his favourite saint back then when he was a kid. Saint George had been cool. Only this one didn't slay a dragon but aimed his sword at some kind of demon. Those images were beautiful and atrocious at the same time, and Michael would bear them for the rest of his life. Inextinguishable. Forever engraved. Just like the scars.

Lincoln did not want to be ungrateful. Of course he was happy to be out. Death on an electric chair was not quite the end he had dreamed of, but it would have been his concern, and his alone. More or less. Sure, there were people who loved him, he knew that much now,

but he'd thought more than once they would be better off without him. What if somehting had gone wrong? So much could have gone wrong. Michael risked everything. What if he risked too much? They were wanted men now, and along the way they had set free a child murderer and rapist.

Was it really worth it all? Michael could have led a good life. Free of care. He'd had a well-payed job, a luxury appartement with the best view over Chicago, he'd had everything he ever wanted. And he was brilliant. So brilliant that companies and universities went after him. And he gave it up just so… so easily. So many open questions…

„Why, Michael? Just why?" Lincoln whispered, barely audible. He got lost in the scene on Michael's back. The demon falling to the ground, whose limbs were torn grotesquely and whose countanance was a mask of pain. He was startled for a second, then he frowned. No, the angel was not about to stab. On the contrary, he was drawing the sword back. The deed was already done. The devil as good as dead. Could that mean that good had gained the victory? _For how long shall we live?_ Lincoln asked himself not for the first time.

Suddenly Michael turned around. There was no time for Lincoln to be surprised. In one flowing movement his brother grabbed him by the neck and pulled him closer. Without saying a word Lincoln looked into his wide open eyes. Several minutes passed. Forehead to forehead. So close that each had the smell of the other in their nostrils. Lincoln was as suprised as ever about the brightness of Michael's eyes, the heritage of their much hated father. Lincoln, who had the gentle brown eyes of their mother, sometimes wondered if Michael knew that he was becoming more and more like their dad in his outward appearance. If he didn't know Lincoln would not be the one who'd break it to him, for sure. Now his eyes were nearly black. Just a small silver ring was left of the iris surrounding the huge pupils, and, for a split second, Lincoln feared he'd drown in them.

„You know why." Michael's words were whispered but intense as always.

For a second Lincoln felt the grip on his neck getting stronger, then Michael inhaled sharply and let go of his brother. With a jerk he sat up, swung his legs over the edge of the bed and buried his head in his hands. He didn't move. For a while Lincoln just watched him. Then he said: „Your shoulder looks bad. Gotta clean it up."

Michael nodded silently. Then he rose and padded over to the bathroom. Sighing Lincoln let himself fall back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. Why couldn't he just be relieved? They'd made it. They had escaped from Fox River. Life was offering so many different paths for them now. They were free to choose. Why the hell wasn't he happy about his newfound freedom, like any normal man would be? He knew the answer to that. He mistrusted freedom and its possibilities. He'd always been a pro in fucking up his life, for sure he'd carry on with this. His tendency to push people away was legendary. Everyone who got close to him got hurt sooner or later, and, as a consequence, he or she disappeared out of his life. It wasn't on purpose, no; it just happend. He couldn't help it. And afterwards he was alone. He had hurt Michael, too, often and badly. But Michael was the only one who always returned to him. Only for how long?

A shout from the bathroom tore him back into the present.

„Hey Linc? I need your help here!"

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tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

2

He found Michael in front of the basin, clad only in his white prison boxers. He was straining his neck in order to inspect the newest wound on his left shoulder in the mirror.

„There's no shower. Seems to be infected. Can you see if it's dirty?"

„We better rinse all that blood off. Can you get your shoulder under the tap?"

With Lincoln's aid Michael bent forward until the wound was right beneath the low sitting tap. He inhaled sharply as the cold water hit his skin, but Lincoln's firm grip kept him from backing away.

„Ow, damn! This is worse than Fox River. At least we had warm water there."

„Hold still and don't complain, Mike. You picked this motel. We couldn't have gone further anyway. Even a superbrain like yours needs sleep."

„Obviously. Otherwise we wouldn't have gotten into this hole."

„Smart ass."

„Watch your mouth, con," Michael hissed. Then he was quiet. Because he was busy gritting his teeth while Lincoln cleansed the wound with a wet cloth.

Once the cut was free from dirt and blood it didn't look too bad any more. Sure, it would leave a scar, one more on Michael's body, but they only had to provide disinfectant and some bandages and the worst was over. At least that was what Lincoln hoped. Carefully he dabbed at the skin until it was dry. Michael held his head down, his hands clutching at the rim of the wash basin.

„Done," Lincoln said throwing the towel on the toilet lid.

Michael started breathing again and straightened his body. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Lincoln saw the gratitude his brother did not vocalise. He accepted it wordlessly with a slight nod. In the mirror his glance fell upon the long sword made of ink adorning Michael's chest. The horned figure holding it seemed strangely familiar. Lincoln frowned and tilted his head a bit to get a better look at the picture. The figure on the ground was naked. He was holding his head down in anticipation of the death blow. Lincoln raised his brows. Out of the figure's shoulders grew wings. This was the reverse of the picture on Michael's back! The same demon, the same angel, the same sword.

Michael watched his brother's face in the mirror with interest. He smiled mildly, as he saw the burgeoning awareness.

„Michael, this angel, that… that's you! The tattoos are your armour, your head, your brain is the sword. Just why --"

„Don't be silly. My hair hasn't been that long since I was fourteen," Michael snorted with amusement.

„You _are_ this angel," Lincoln insisted. „There were only two possibilities, heads or tails. Either you succeded in getting me out or not. If it didn't work out, Michael, if they'd killed me, what would you've done?"

In jail you could lose your life any way you wanted. Especially if you had a pretty face and kept yourself out of the common games of violence and corruption. Lincoln felt the grip of sheer horror as he realised Michael would have played the part of the martyr, just like the angel on his chest. He felt horror and rage rise up. Brutally he gripped his brother by the forearms and shook him. Both men were of the same height, but despite his broad shoulders Michael appeared nearly petite compared to Lincoln's musceld frame.

„Fuck! You can't be left alone for a second, can you? It's all my fault! If I hadn't left you, if -- God, Mike! When they find us, I'll still end up in the chair, but you! You! Damn, couldn't you just have kept quiet in your neat little office?!"

Michael endured the fit of rage until it was over. Then he said: „Close your eyes."

„Wha--?"

„Stop the whys, just do it."

Lincoln complied. He was a little breathless. Michael took his brother's right hand by the wrist and pulled it to his chest. He pressed it close to his heart, held it fast with his own right hand and leaned his back against the broad chest of his older brother.

„You feel it?" he whispered. „Feel that, Linc? _That's_ me."

The skin under his calloused palm was firm and warm. No trace of the tattoos. He knew they were there, but they meant nothing. The heart beneath them was no fluttering little bird in a cage, it was beating steadily. Lincoln swallowed. Maybe Michael was right. Maybe it was time to throw his doubts overboard and start believing they could make it. There was nothing he wanted more. Faith roots in the heart. The priest in Fox River had called that to Lincoln's mind. His own breathing calmed down while the heartbeat under his palm kept on pounding.

The left arm rose as of its own accord. Splayed fingers settled on Michael's hip first, then stroked over his belly in slow motion, brushed blindly across the fallen angel, until Michael was entirely encompasssed by his brother's arms.

Lincoln kept his eyes closed as he felt Michael's chest heave in his tight embrace. He kept them closed as the breaths deepened at his touch, his hands mapping Michael's torso. His whole consciousness was in his palms, perceiving with them everything that mattered right now. Which was Michael's soft and smooth belly, the round navel in which he dipped his fingers for just a second, the slightly perceptible ribs further above, and then Michael's firm chest and his small, round nipples. Lincoln's fingers grazed them in passing, but he did not fail to notice the hitch in Michael's breathing rhythm.

As Lincoln opened his eyes again he was startled by the desparation showing in Michael's gaze. He wanted to soothe him instantly, assure him everything was okay, but not one single word left his mouth. For three long breaths they were silent. Lincoln was staring at his brother's reflection in the mirror. He couldn't move. He wanted to comfort him, embrace him, although he was already hugging him tightly. He wanted to say something, so he opened his mouth but his brain failed to provide any words. His tongue felt dry and somewhat alien in his mouth.

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tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Michael found his voice first. „I missed you so much," he whispered tightly. His lips quivered.

Lincoln's heart clenched painfully at the intensity. Desperation wasn't the only thing those bright eyes he'd known all his life conveyed. There was also longing, flaming heat. And something he had almost forgotten in the past few years: Love. Nothing more, nothing less. The true reason, the only reason for everything. And it didn't take much, just a flicker in Michael's gaze, to remind Lincoln of it. The outside world was nothing. It faded away, lost in a single maelstrom of greyness and an indistinct rushing noise that was appeasing and heart-stirring at the same time. Nothing was important as long as the two of them were together. How could he forget this all those years?

Suddenly Lincoln couldn't hold back any longer. Panting heavily he shook off his transfixed state, turned Michael around and, gripping his shoulders, he kissed him on the mouth, hard and relentlessly, but Michael did not complain. Quite the contrary. He clung to his brother's strong arms and opend his mouth willingly, admitting the demanding tongue inside. His lack of resistance sparked a fire inside of Lincoln that had been simmering for a long time.

Somehow Michael's rear bumped violently against the basin. He made an indignant noise, and refusing to remove his lips from Lincoln's he manoeuvered them aside until his back hit the wall. Lincoln let himself be dragged along. The fire in his bowels spread frantically. Tasting Michael on his tongue, opening his sweet lips and claiming him as his again, filled him with long suppressed ecstasy. His lips left Michael's mouth and traced the slightly stubbled chin down to the skin of his throat which Michael offered without hesitation. A kiss here, a nibble to the earlobe there, then a long wet trail with the tongue down the throat again.

„Lincoln... mmh… Linc, oh God, Linc!"

Lincoln grinned against Michael's skin. This was definitely another Michael than the snobby little smart ass that could drive him into fury with his finickyness. With intense pleasure he bit down between Michael's neck and shoulder which elicited a deep growl, then he grabbed Michael's wrists, spread them wide and pressed them to the tiles.

„Oops. Seems you got me." Michael flirted so innocently that it made Lincoln laugh out loud. His head fell forward against Michael's neck and he had to stop his caresses because he was shaking with laughter. No wonder Michael had the doctor, Pope, Abruzzi, even T-Bag twisted around his little finger. This concoction of sweet innocence and trickiness was irresistible.

It had been a while since Lincoln laughed this heartily, but the noises died abruptly in his throat as Michael pushed his hips forward, letting him feel his arousal. Lincoln panted, drew his head back and… and saw the lopsided little smile on his brother's face that was so typical for him, though rare of late. You might mistake it for arrogance if you didn't know him, but Lincoln took it for what it was.

Michael needed challenges to define his own boundaries. So Lincoln gave him what he wanted. In one fast movement he pressed the length of his body against Michael who gasped at the action. With his arms stretched out wide he was caught between Lincoln's warm body and the cool tiles.

„_Now_ I got you, Mikey," Lincoln grinned and took a moment to look at the man in front of him. Lips red and swollen from their wild kisses and in the crook of his neck bloomed the impression of Lincoln's teeth. He was beautiful. His eyes and his glowing body cried for more. Lincoln leaned in, rubbed his chin and nose against Michael's cheek and inhaled the familiar smell.

„What are you gonna do now?" he rasped against Michael's skin.

„I'm good at breaking out, right?"

„Just try," growled Lincoln nibbling along Michael's jawline. A split second later he moaned loudly as a hot tongue sneaked into his ear and, almost at the same time, a firm thigh pressed into his crotch and against his hard flesh.

„Aaah…"

„What d'you say now?" whispered Michael between kisses around Lincoln's ear.

„You can't escape, even if I let go of your arms."

Fact was, Lincoln himself didn't want his hands to stay where they were. He had always been a tactile person, now he wanted to touch more of Michael. Sparks crackled in his palms, his arms tickled, and his whole insides were aflame. All he could do was grab Michael's face in both hands and kiss him. Slowly, sensually and erotically. He sucked the full and soft lower lip between his lips and suckled on it, which drew a little whimper from Michael. He kissed both corners of the mouth, licked with the tip of his tongue over the vertical scar on Michael's upper lip.

Michael's hips rocked in a steady rhythm, he rubbed himself on Lincoln's thigh and he made adorable little noises so that Lincoln couldn't help joining in. His well-nigh painfully hard cock cheered as it got more friction. For a moment Lincoln feared his knees would give out. The prickling crept as far as his little toes, and he panted into Michael's mouth. Too much was happening. He couldn't concentrate on all of it. Kissing and rubbing. Clutching. Touching. Kissing. Smelling. Tasting. And rubbing and kissing again… His head swirled, dizzy with the exuberance of the sweetest sentiments. He had to let go of the beautiful lips if he wanted to keep his footing. His head fell forward, breaking their kiss. Which Michael obviously didn't like. He grabbed Lincoln's neck, trying to get back to his mouth. But at Lincoln's unarticulate grunt and the heaviness of his head against Michael's shoulder, Michael just settled with kissing Lincoln's cheek, his ear and the stubbly chin.

As if in a fever Lincoln's hands wandered erratically across Michael's torso. Stroked over his back - right now Michael was only supported by his shoulders against the wall -, stroked over his naked arms, shoulders, passed the ribs and finally grabbed Michael by the waist, settling there. Not for long, though. Restless as they were the hands slipped down lower and met fabric. Why the hell was Michael still wearing these damn shorts? Hot fingers slid underneath the waistband and pushed it down a bit. He was just about to ditch the unnecessary piece of clothing when Michael lifted one leg and hooked it around Lincoln. Their crotches met in most heavenly contact. The formerly annoying undergarment was now forgotten. Lincoln's right hand was inside of it, kneading Michael's ass, whose muscles flexed with each forward movement. His left hand held Michael's thigh, supporting both their movements.

Michael's hands clawed Lincon's t-shirt, tearing at it, holding onto it. _Why am I still dressed?_ Lincoln asked himself in a corner of his brain that wasn't flooded with sex. It made no difference, though. He felt Michael's heat all the same. He felt the hard cotton-clad penis rubbing gradually faster and harder against his own. There was no time to undress. Not now. Not for a split second could he break contact between their bodies.

The sounds Michael made with each breath only encouraged Lincoln. They drove him into a narrowing upward spiral closer to delirium, until Michael, whose hands were clasped behind his brother's neck, suddenly trembled in his arms. The ecstatic panting ended in a sob and Michael stiffened. For several seconds he didn't move a muscle. Then he exhaled with one more shiver and relaxed, practically melting. Open mouthed Lincoln watched the orgasm mirrored on Michael's face. And he was smitten. So beautiful, so angelic and sexy. It was the most sublime view he'd ever seen. But as Lincoln suddenly felt the pressure of hands on his buttocks pressing his cock with unmistakable intent against a muscular thigh, the reverential amazement was blown away instantly. He groaned loudly and rocked his hips forward two or three times, then he felt his own climax wash over him like a huge wave threatening to throw him off his feet. He fought not to tear his eyes away from Michael's as he came. Blue eyes watching him lovingly and without blinking. Maybe he cried Michael's name out loud, maybe it just exploded in his head into thousands of starsplinters disappearing in every direction.

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tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

4

„What now?" Lincoln mumbled lazily. His fingers stroked through silky black hair.

„Mmh… I want to go south." Michael rubbed his cheek against Lincoln's. „I want hot showers every day without time limit." Warm hands slid under Lincoln's shirt, slowly drawing small circles. „I want to swim in the ocean and dry in the sun." His head fell forward and he hid his face in the coarse grey material of the shirtsleeve. „And I want proper food."

Lincoln smiled and pressed a kiss to his brother's temple. This was Michael's way of saying Fox River had been like hell. Lincoln sighed. His little brother went through hell for him. _For him_. For a second he closed his eyes and held his breath in order to contain the tremors in his own breast. His hand softly stroked Michael's neck.

„You will have it all. I promise. What else d'you want, Mikey?"

„Clean clothes. For you, too. You stink."

„Thanks," Lincoln snorted, part of him being thankful for getting rid of the sentimental mood.

„And it'd be nice to get away from these fucking cold tiles for starters."

Lethargy gave way to dismay. Hastily Lincoln yanked Michael away from the wall and embraced him. He rubbed the icecold back with his huge hands. „Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry." Michael huddled with closed eyes against him and purred like a cat. He looked relaxed now, his face sporting a blissful expression.

One more kiss to the temple, another on Michael's ear. Then Lincoln's eyes caught on the wound on the shoulder which he had completely forgotten during past few minutes. It was still bright red and glistening. Oh god, it looked awful. He dared to glance at the tiles and his stomach clenched. Smeared blood everywhere. Damn, what did he have a brain for if he didn't use it?

„Shit! Michael, your shoulder. I… I'm sorry. I was too rough."

„Shut up, Linc, s'not that bad," Michael slurred into Lincoln's sweaty shirt.

„Fuck, I was way too brutal. Why didn't you say anything? It shouldn't have --"

„Linc." Michael freed himself with resolution.

„I'm so sorry, Mike. I should've taken care! I…"

„Linc! Stop the guilt." Michael winked. „Freaking out is my job, remember?" Lincoln rolled his eyes. He was just about to respond that this stupid heroism got on his nerves, when Michael kissed him softly on the mouth. „It's okay," he said. „It was exactly the way I wanted it."

„But…"

„Shhht. No buts. I've got you back, that's all that matters. We'll leave this hole now, floor the throttle, and in the evening we'll find some place that has actual hot water. And," he added because he sensed another ‚but' coming, „we'll be stopping for some antiseptic and bandages."

There was one whole minute of silence. Lincoln looked his brother in the eye, and for the first time in a very long time he felt something akin to optimism. He looked into the future, not back on the past.

„We made it, Mike, didn't we? We're free now."

With a small smile Michael answered: „No, not quite. But soon."

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END


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